


For Who Would Bear

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Alternate Universe - Vikings, Drug Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3755974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spent so much time looking for Arthur, it never occurred to Merlin he’d find someone else.</p><p>Until he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Who Would Bear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agirlnamedtruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Chasing The Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276777) by [agirlnamedtruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth). 



> Thank you, agirlnamedtruth, for this opportunity to really push myself. It was terrifying and exciting all at the same time, especially since you spoiled me with so many stories to choose from.

He spent so much time looking for Arthur, it never occurred to Merlin he’d find someone else.

Until he did.

He’d avoided straying too far from the lake, in spite of the memories that grew sharper with each passing year instead of dimmer. It was logical, too, that since Arthur’s return would be when his land needed him most, it had to be nearby. But the winter of 1021 was the harshest Merlin could ever recall, the spring late to flourish. He drifted closer and closer to shore on the hunt for resources, until the frigid waves of the great water lapped at his covered toes. The horizon was bleak, the sky ruthless. A wise man would’ve turned away from its merciless indifference.

Merlin built a boat.

He was frozen through when he saw the isle loom in the distance. It sapped the rest of his strength to cast the spell that steered him away from the rocks, but he landed safely, collapsing onto the wet sand with an audible groan. He didn’t remember losing consciousness. He didn’t remember waking up. In the host of dreams that separated the first from the latter, he honestly didn’t care. They gave him sanctuary from the agony of waiting. Truth, he almost regretted ever having to wake at all.

But when he did, the sun had returned, insipid though its heat might be. He brushed off his clothes and went off in search of shelter, but he hadn’t gone far before he heard the voices. His only camouflage came in the jagged shore, so he crouched amidst the stones, the water seeping through every seam it found, and watched to see who would arrive.

A party of women rounded the bluff, chattering amongst each other as children darted in and around their legs. Merlin knew of the people from the north who had slowly insinuated their paths to corners of the land broken by the lack of leadership. As a whole, they were large, rough, and loud, bold individuals who reminded him more than once of Percival and his fearlessness. The stories he’d heard exceeded anything Morgana had ever accomplished, but Merlin doubted all of them were true. Fear was a greater weapon than any sword or spell could ever hope to be.

The little girl spotted him first. She wandered at the periphery of the group, toying with the heavy pendant that hung around her neck. When her gaze lit on him, Merlin ducked out of sight until his knees cramped and curiosity got the better of him again. Slowly, he straightened to peek over the rock.

Wide blue eyes stared back at him from the other side.

He would’ve ducked back down to escape her attention, or at least in hopes of waiting out a mother to come and fetch her wayward daughter, except for one small detail. The little girl, five at the most, smiled at him. In that moment, he knew.

_Gwen._

She looked nothing like the queen he’d left behind. Her thick blonde hair was bound and tucked away, her cheeks chapped and shiny. Chubby hands reached over the stone to pet his unkempt beard, a forwardness Gwen would rarely have dared, and when she spoke, he didn’t understand the language that tumbled from her lips.

But the look in her eyes, the knowing of her smile…those he recognized. He wasn’t sure how, except to believe he could never forget his first real friend in Camelot, his first defender. Her goodness had permeated everything she touched, even Morgana for a while, and it reflected back at him now in the guileless gaze of this child.

“Do you know me?” he whispered. In the years and years since Arthur’s death, he rarely gave too much thought on his self-imposed isolation. Always moving, always searching, never having much opportunity to make those connections with people like he’d had in Camelot, this was his life now, or at least it had been before venturing across the great water. The possibility that she might recognize him as well kindled hope he hadn’t realized begged for a spark, and he held his breath, waiting for anything he might deem a response.

The sharp tone of one of the women in the group shattered the spell wound between them. The girl— _Gwen_ —jerked her head toward the sound, then scampered off to rejoin the others without another word to Merlin. He watched her leave with an ache in his heart. His coming had been for a purpose, as tormented as it might feel right now. He was meant to find Gwen, and he would stay until he understood why.

Without knowing where her village was located, Merlin set up a temporary home in a far cave hidden from the beach. Every morning, the weather threatened to drive him away, but he remained resolute, spending his days working and watching for her return. He wove reeds until his fingers bled, split saplings for spears so he could fish, laughing all the while about how diligently he stuck to labor when his magic was more powerful than ever. Arthur would never believe it, that was for sure.

Perhaps that was why he did it. That last vestige of stubbornness to subvert Arthur’s expectations of him.

He learned Gwen and the others came to the great water twice a week. The first time, he stayed in the cave, intent on only watching, but Gwen found him anyway, skipping away to stand at the mouth and wave at him until her mother called her again. The second, he sat outside, his empty hands in his lap. All became aware of his presence, then, scuttling far away, children tight in hand as they continued on without pausing.

Each time, he stayed in his seat when they passed. He never moved. He never spoke. He smiled when Gwen would look in his direction, but that was the only overture he ever made. It took almost a month for them to relax, loosing the children to walk of their own accord, at which point Gwen broke free from the pack to come and sit with him while the others gathered their supplies.

She chattered at him, but when he cast the quiet spell to make her words understandable, he heard only the excited ramblings of a precocious little girl, talking about her day. No indication she understood who he was, nor who she’d been. He waited for a break before posing, “What’s your name?”

“Eyildr,” and then she was off again, and it was another ten minutes before he could ask, “And do you know what my name is?”

She shook her head, but petted his beard affectionately. Though disappointment lanced through him, he endured her attention with a small smile. 

“You can call me Merlin.”

It took more months for anyone else to approach him, a full year before her mother even spoke to him. He learned where their village was long before the adults stopped viewing him as a stranger, but he was always on the outside, watching over the child who’d once been Gwen, wondering if Arthur could possibly be one of the others scampering about. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d had prior to coming to the isle, and that was enough.

He was there when Gwen got caught by the tide and dragged out to sea until a mysterious wave threw her back onto the shore.

He was there when illness rolled through the small community, claiming the weak until it came to an abrupt halt.

He was there when a twelve year-old Gwen was given in marriage to the village’s best fisherman, a brute over ten years her senior who ignored the girl unless he wanted to be served.

He was there when her husband’s home burned around him, leaving the widowed and now-withdrawn fourteen year-old liberty to return to her childhood home.

For all the milestones in Gwen’s life, Merlin was there, sharing in the joys and sorrows that came even in the simplest of lives. Not all of it was easy. For instance, seeing her love a man later in life who wasn’t Arthur had taken a long time to get used to. The hardest of all came when he arrived one morning with fresh mats for her house to learn she had died in her sleep.

He hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Again.

He wept for a week at the loss.

On the eighth day, he set sail. Nothing remained for him on the isle. The years spent with Gwen had taught him one thing, however. 

The others were out there. He only had to find them.

For eight hundred years, he roamed the land. He had no specific paths, but instead followed his heart, giving it free rein to unearth the friends he’d left behind. He discovered Gwen two more times, once on a small farm near the Scottish borders and again in a performance of _The Tempest_ during the winter of 1612. She was already an adult by then, and male to boot, which was odd the first time he encountered it. He attempted to make contact, but gone was the carefree recognition he’d seen in the child, and he was relegated to the outside looking in, heedful of any harm that might befall her like he’d done before.

Other encounters were just as unsatisfying, like finding Gwaine boarding a ship on his way to the New World, or Lancelot as a Benedictine monk traveling to the island of Caldey. He discovered Uther a grand total of three times, more than any other individual, but he never had the fortitude to do more than watch him in hopes Arthur would make an appearance as well.

But those he could follow for years, like the babe Elyan he discovered on a farm in Kent, and the teenaged Leon who married into the royal family, brought light to a heart that grew darker with each decade. They were a temporary reprieve to his loneliness, reminders of everything he waited for and all he had yet to cherish if he was only patient. Elyan, in particular, seemed to recall details from his previous existence no other soul had acknowledged, teasing Merlin with longings that never quite bore fruit. When he died, surrounded by over two dozen family members, Merlin wept as much as he had for the first Gwen, the last to leave his bedside, the first to walk away from his grave.

He ran. Back to the lake, back to the beginning, back to his doomed existence when all he wanted was for Arthur to be there, at his side, ready to fight for what was best. He had no tears left, nothing to shed that might cast pity on his plight. He tried summoning Freya, but if she heard the call of his magic, she chose to ignore it. There was nothing but him and the water and the pit left behind by the repeated loss of everyone who had ever been important in his life.

The desolation consumed him. It carved hollows inside his flesh until his skin was a hardened shell, daring anyone to break it. How did someone survive centuries knowing what he did? Had he been mistaken to dream of a bright and glorious future? Where had it all gone wrong?

He had no answer for now. He _did_ have one for then.

_Morgana._

She was the force behind all the tragedy that bestruck those he’d loved. Corrupting Mordred. Breaking Gwen’s heart too often to count. Doing everything she could to destroy Arthur’s ability to see the good in people by her own constant deceits.

On the latter, she’d ultimately failed, though her corrosive touch had still managed to kill Arthur. When so many others had been allowed the chance to come back and find lives again, would she be included amongst them? Not once had he stumbled across her. It could be that fate had other plans for her black soul.

But what if she was out there? What if she was happy when Arthur was not? Could Merlin live in a world where evil was rewarded?

The simple answer was no.

When he left the lake for the second time, it was with purpose. Always in the past he’d followed his instincts, letting that part of him that yearned for the others to guide him to their lives. With the twentieth century racing toward him with an alarming ferocity, he couldn’t afford the luxury of time that wandering would allow. Magic was necessary, specific to Morgana and not to others who might tempt him to stray. Undeniable. Immutable. Tenacious to the very end.

It led him back to London and snuffed out at the door of a building too new for him to recognize. “What is this place?” he asked a passerby.

The old man sniffed in disdain. “A travesty, if you ask me.”

“Why?”

His rheumy gaze swept up and down Merlin’s form. “You must be not be from here if you haven’t heard of it.”

“I’ve been traveling.” A greater truth had never been spoken. “So what is it?”

“School of Medicine.” He spat into the gutter. “For women. Not just to learn nursing. No, that’s not good enough for them, I suppose. They’re insisting they can be doctors, too. Teaching them all sorts of nonsense when they should be at…”

Merlin left him to his rant, surveying the building with greater interest. Morgana had to be inside. He only had to wait and see everyone as they left.

It wasn’t long. Within the hour, a petite blonde came out the front door, pausing as she pulled on her left glove. She scanned the road absently, but the moment her gaze hooked on Merlin’s, the familiar jolt of recognition hit him. 

She didn’t linger. Turning on her heel, she marched down the street, each step as purposeful as the last. Merlin followed, absorbing as many details as he could. Expensive coat. Well groomed. She came from a moneyed family, though perhaps not a noble one if they agreed to her attending medical school. Still beautiful, if the glimpses he got of her profile were true. More delicate than the woman he’d known, but there was an unmistakable confidence in her carriage that was pure Morgana.

Excitement like he hadn’t felt in years filled him. So many elements to strip away from her, to give her a taste of the misery she’d created. He was going to relish each and every one.

She wound her way through London’s narrow streets, seeking out seedier neighborhoods that should’ve left her anxious and fearful. Though a few watched her pass, none bothered her. She might as well have been one of them for all the reaction she garnered.

Finally, she turned into an alley, leaving him hovering on the road lest he be caught. Soot blackened the walls, while the stench of human waste wafted from the swill that flowed into the gutters. Though Merlin had to cover his nose, she gave no mind to it. She continued on until she stood directly in front of the alley’s only other occupant.

“I was hoping I’d see you today.” Tucking her skirts close, she crouched down in front of a small boy who looked far more at home in these surroundings than she did. “Do you have something for me?”

The boy nodded. Reaching out of Merlin’s sight, his grubby hands came back into view holding a wrinkled piece of paper. He started to hand it to Morgana, but she shook her head.

“I want you to read it to me,” she said. “Just like we practiced.”

His scowl was comical, but his eyes dipped downward, a heavy lank of light brown hair falling across his brow. He let out a long breath as if in preparation of a laborious speech.

“‘The cat is black. His name is Tom. He is very fast…’”

Merlin listened in morbid fascination as this ragamuffin read out the simple tale of Tom the cat with an exacting precision to his impoverished accent. When the story was over, the child lifted his gaze, his lower lip caught helplessly between his teeth.

“That’s just wonderful,” Morgana said. His immediate smile was as brilliant as hers, especially after she took the paper, scanned it over, and announced, “Every word is absolutely correct, too. Well done.”

She tucked it into her reticule, while the boy tracked her every moment with the same avid attention Merlin did. He practically snatched away the fresh paper she held out to him, then flushed when she frowned.

“Learning to read won’t do you any good if you act like a savage,” she scolded. She held out her hand. “Give it back.” 

Reluctantly, he obeyed, his shoulders sagging.

“Now. What’s the proper way to ask for it?”

“Please, mum, can I—”

“ _May_ I…”

“May I have it?”

“You may.” 

This time, he took it with care, rolling it up to tuck it inside his shirt.

“I have a new book for you, too. But this one, you can keep if you promise to take very, very, _very_ good care of it.”

His head jerked up, his vehement nodding beginning before she’d finished speaking. “Oh, I will. I promise.”

Her smile returned as she passed it over. “I’ll warn you, it’s a little harder than the last. Do you think you’re up to it?”

“Oh, yes. I can do it. I’ll show you next time.”

“Good.”

When she straightened, Merlin ducked into a doorway, turning his head from sight as he waited for her to emerge. After long seconds had ticked away and no sign of her came, he dared another peek, but the little boy was the alley’s only occupant. 

Merlin advanced with care, his steps silent to keep from spooking the child who was now absorbed by the book he’d been given. He was almost upon him when the boy’s head snapped up.

Their eyes locked. Merlin stopped breathing.

“Arthur…”

The boy took off at a dead run, nearly knocking Merlin over in his haste to get away. Merlin reached at the last minute and grabbed his collar, but he twisted out of his grip, an eel determined to be free, and was gone before Merlin could chase after him.

He stood rooted in place, too stunned to pursue. After all these years, his journey was over. Arthur was alive. Somewhere out there, in the streets of London, was a boy who knew nothing about who he’d been, who he could become. A boy of little to no means, who treated learning like an illicit act—

From Morgana.

Somewhere down the alley, a door opened, and a woman in a ragged dress that exposed the wares she had to offer to anyone willing to pay drifted out. She sagged against the wall, her eyelids drooping. From the entrance, something sickly sweet and musky enticed him closer, past the prostitute, into a darkened den that reeked of anguish and desperation. 

Would Morgana have come in here? In spite of his fury toward her, he didn’t want to believe she’d sink this low. Every face he found was slack, lost in a drugged euphoria. Bodies slumped against each other, ignoring decorum. He turned to leave, and there she was, tucked into the corner on a stained, threadbare mattress, an empty glass rolling free from her hand.

He should’ve been triumphant. He had no need to punish Morgana now. She did it to herself, ruining her life by succumbing to the lure of these poisons. Once her family found out, she’d be tossed into the streets, probably forced to sell her body like so many other women without means. She’d be destitute—

—like Arthur. 

A boy who obviously had no ties to her normal life. A boy she was teaching to read and function in polite society.

Did she recognize him? Suddenly, that answer was more vital than anything else. Merlin swept a hand across the drugged horde, blinding them to his presence should they awaken from their stupors, and crossed to her side, kneeling on the floor to whisper in her ear.

The spell was delicate, coaxing her to respond without breaking the hold of whatever she had taken. Her eyes moved beneath her closed lids, soft lips parting.

“Morgana?” he tested.

He clenched his fist in triumph at her exhaled, “Yes…”

“Where are you?”

“Home.”

“And where’s that?”

“Camelot.”

His pulse leapt. “Are you alone?”

“No…” The tip of her tongue darted out to run over her dry lower lip. “In Camelot, I’m never alone.”

“Who’s with you?”

“Everyone.”

“Who?”

“Everyone.”

Her lack of detail was frustrating. “What’re you doing?”

“Fighting the Great Dragon, of course.” Her light laugh was the music of bells, so reminiscent of days long gone Merlin’s heart hurt. “Arthur might be a great king, but he’d be lost without us.”

Arthur? King? Her timing was off. Uther had still been alive during the attack.

But then he understood. And the desire to witness her destruction for all the grief she had caused dissipated.

It didn’t matter whether or not she consciously recognized Arthur. Her soul was attempting to make amends for the wrongs she’d done, offering her an escape to a place, imaginary though it was, where she could be on the right side instead of the wrong. Eventually, she would lose everything she had. Just like Merlin had.

Just like Arthur.

Like Gwen.

The image of a little girl he hadn’t thought of in nearly nine hundred years filled his mind’s eye. In many ways, she had begun this journey, with her trusting smile and the light she’d brought into his life. She’d taught him how to love again. For her, he could end his search with a lesson he could never have anticipated, especially when it came to Morgana.

He could forgive.

Gently, he released her from his spell and rose to his feet. Freeing her from the bonds of her addiction would have to wait until she led him to Arthur again, but once he had that knowledge, Merlin would grant her the gift whether she wished it or not. It might steal her dreams from her, but she would have her future back, one with the hopes and honor she so clearly yearned for. She would have her second chance.

And Merlin would have his.


End file.
